The Exchange: Prologue, Part 4

Merric and Harod paused at the end of the passageway. Merric peeked out, checking to make sure that the way was clear, and signalled to Harod. They both dashed out and continued through the mazelike system of hallways and rooms that made up the building. They were still within palace grounds, which was a dangerous place to be. Even at the best of times it was crawling with guards. Soon, though, they would be in the relative safety of the city.

Merric had thought about going straight into the hornet’s nest itself - finding and finishing the King once and for all - but had since thought better of it. Despite his intimate knowledge of how the guards patrolled, he was in no condition to be doing anything. Even running was taking its toll.

No, now was no time for a hasty decision. He’d escape for now, and he’d gather strength. He’d make a plan. That’s what he was trained to do. Trained by the man he now wanted to kill, yes, but trained nonetheless.

As he ran, his left hand brushed roughly against his clothes, irritating the wound. Fresh blood oozed out, and he winced. Glancing at it for the umpteenth time, he saw a flash of bone. Not good; he’d definitely have to get that checked out.

“The exit’s just a few more turns up this way,” Harod said in between gasps, breaking Merric from his thoughts. It was unnecessary, for Merric knew exactly where it was. “We’re going to make it, Ric.”

***

Slap.

“Wake up!”

Kevyn groaned. “Ugh... no more hitting...”

The man shook him, and Kevyn’s eyes fluttered open. The man was a guard, and judging by the shine of his armour, a fairly high-ranking one.

For a second, Kevyn couldn’t remember exactly how he came to be in this situation. Then he felt a twinge in his left hand. He glanced down; the little finger was missing. Oh, yeah.

“Where’d they go?” the guard asked.

“I- I don’t know. I didn’t see.”

The guard cursed, and stood up. He was about to leave when Kevyn spoke once more. “One of them was pretty beat up, though,” he offered. “They can’t have gone far.”

The guard nodded briskly, and grabbed at the small rope that hung on the wall. It was connected to a complex system of ropes and pulleys, and in a small room several hundred metres away, a small bell rang. The guard rang out the code, and a few seconds later he heard the clang of the massive warning bell.

“Don’t worry,” the guard said before rushing out, “we’ll catch them.”

***

Merric heard the bells, and swore colourfully. They must have found Kevyn.

“We can still make it,” Harod said, huffing and puffing. “If we get out, they’ll still be looking for us inside the palace.”

Turning the next corner, though, their hopes of freedom vanished. A dozen heavily armed men were forming up in the distant portcullis.

“Oh balls,” Harod said, and he looked around for another means of escape. He found it in the form of a small window that was very close at hand. “Merric!” he cried, pointing at the window. Merric nodded, understanding immediately. It was their best bet at escape. Harod was good with a sword, and Merric was even better, but not even they could take on that many at once.

As the guards started to run towards them, Harod cupped his hands together, and boosted Merric up to the window. Merric grabbed on to one of the rafters and kicked the wooden window out with one blow. Positioning himself in the window, he stretched his arms down to help Harod.

Harod shook his head, smiling a peculiar smile. “No, mate. I don’t think I could fit through there, and you don’t have the strength to lift me. Especially not with that hand.”

“God damn it, Harod,” Merric spat, “Grab my fucking hand.”

Harod unsheathed his sword, and dropped into a fighting stance – a stance that Merric himself had helped him to master. “No Merric. Now I’ve repayed my debt, and that’s enough for me.” The guards were almost upon him. “Now get out of here, you idiot!”

Merric gulped ruefully, and did as he was told. As he dropped into the street, he heard the familiar sound of steel on steel, and then the sound of steel on flesh. Merric’s face twisted into what passed for a pained expression. Harod was now a dead man. If he wasn’t killed by the guards now, he had no doubt that he’d be killed for treason within the hour.

Guards appeared at the end of the street. Determined not to let Harod’s sacrifice be in vain, Merric took off in the opposite direction. He was confident that he could lose them in the backstreets.

The guards were all yelling their own personal variations of ‘quick, get him’, but they were too far away to catch him. They were armoured, and he was not, so he could outrun them easily. Unfortunately, having no armour has its down sides.

A few of the guards stopped to fire their crossbows. The bolts clattered harmlessly up the street, startling Merric and garnering a fresh curse from the assassin. On the second volley, one struck true, embedding itself in his left shoulder. He snarled, but didn’t break stride. On the third volley, a second bolt hit him – in all places – on his right buttock. Every step was filled with jagged pain, but he pushed himself anyway.

At the first opportunity, he slipped down an alleyway, and through a complex chain of turns, he lost his pursuers.

And then, he ran. As far and as fast as his battered body could take him. After half an hour, the sun began to rise, and he could run no further. Gasping for breath, and bleeding from the shoulder, hand, and arse, Merric collapsed in the gutter.

As he was passing out, a man of noticeable girth stepped into his view.

“Oh my!” the man gasped, kneeling down beside him.